


You're Insufferable

by OhNovi



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jealousy, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Tony Stark, Loki and Thor Don't Fight, Loki and Tony Live Together, M/M, Many years in the future, Ragnarok Did Not Happen, Ridiculous Hobbies, Slow Build, Thor and Loki Share a Forge, Tony Definitely Moves into it, Tony Moves To Asgard, Tony Stark is Blue, Unrequited Lust, except when he isn't, shared secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNovi/pseuds/OhNovi
Summary: When Loki and Thor and the warriors three return from an especially trying hunt, Loki finds himself irritated and intrigued by an argument between Frigga and Odin. In their absence, a Frost Giant had passed through the Bifrost from Midgard, of all places, and claimed to be a shield brother to Thor.Amused, Loki decides that a trip to this creatures cell could be worth a look. It had been years since Loki had been to Midgard, a few decades at least. Long since forgiven by Frigga and Odin and Thor, and life moved on from those trying times. It was a forgotten and irrelevant tiff with creatures bearing lifespans so short that those who remembered were nearly dead of old age.But not this man. Wearing a face that he knew. The sapphire skin and deep red eyes of a despised race, but with the voice and idiotic smile of one, should be deceased, Anthony Stark.45,000 - 55,000 wordsExpected Update : May 2018





	1. Prologue : Leaving Earth

It was a cold night, but his face was hot, and his heart beat fast. The icy December wind was relentless, muffling the sounds of the city forty stories below. He could hear the helicopters now, somewhere in the dark sky SHIELD was zooming in, pinpointed to the tower. Tony’s eyes flicked back to the illuminated tablet half buried in the snow at his feet. He drew his finger carefully in a cold line of frost, holding his wrist steady while he traced the little maze of crosses and circles, leaning far into the curve as he carved out the largest border with a patient urgency. Moisture condensed on the screen, half obscuring the article that accompanied the image, titled “Asgardian Sigils Spotted Again”. There wasn’t any point in hoping Thor might arrive in time, so what choice did he have?

With Steve dead and the UN breathing down his neck, he didn’t have another option.

He would just have to explain when he got there.

If this worked.

But drawing the bridge markings on his rooftop terrace wouldn't magically teleport him, would it? Hell, he’d stood on the markings so many times before and Heimdall ignored his uncertain call. What was he even trying this for? An old lingering question. The rumor of Thor’s adopted brother. Knowing his own face was a tightly wound lie built up after so long that he barely knew the skin underneath.

Before this, there had been no problems. The drinking, the lifestyle, the kidnapping, he looked more worn than anyone for half forty. But then it had slowed down. All but stopped. His face just stayed, no matter how much he willed it to change.

Everything his father had warned him about so forcefully as a kid was finally starting to gain credit. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t make friends. Don’t take the glamour off.

A bit too late for all that.

And now what? Seventy-two. He was seventy-two years old and he looked just the same as the day he’d come home from Afghanistan. Sure, maybe a little more grey around the temples but that was more Peter’s fault than anything. Worrying him so damn much with his antics.

Peter. Tony felt his stomach twist in an unpleasant guilty way, and he had to pause and push it down, remind himself that damn it, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a fully-fledged spider man now, emphasis on the man. He was going to be fine. Even though he had just lost Steve, and of course Tash had gone a few years back after the accident, along with Bruce. Their family was old now, old and broken and missing some large pieces.

And now it was going to be missing him.

But hell, he would rather follow Thor into crazy space land than have SHIELD get their paws on him.

“Friday, status of the emails?”

“Your response indicating a refusal to comment on the circumstances regarding the death of Steve Rogers is not being met with positive reaction within SHIELD headquarters. The current director has sent two teams to retrieve you, one ground force and a secondary air unit.”

“Yeah well, his choice was none of their god damn business. I’m guessing those big unsubtle helicopters are them?”

“They are. Estimating three minutes till their arrival, and an additional sixty-three seconds for them to pinpoint your whereabouts, provided you are not seen on their landing.”

“A whole minute? They’re getting slower.”

“It would appear so. Boss?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Are you certain you will find a sufficient source of energy to sustain my programming on Asgard? Past inquiries to Thor have indicated-”

“We’ll find you something, don’t worry so much. Have I ever l let you down?”

Friday didn’t comment. He laughed to break the tension, and stood up, looking down at his handiwork. It wasn't perfect, a little wavy on one side, his control over frost was getting better, but it was still clumsy at best. He might have been better off torching the sigil into the pavement but… somehow wearing this skin, his skin, made him feel like he should embrace the gift. Just a little.

The wind blew strong and steady into his face, urging him. It was really time to go now.

Did he have everything? Tony unzipped his heavy backpack. He’d already checked it over a dozen times, but somehow he felt just once more… Two spare arc reactors, a full set of his most essential tools, a tiny case containing everything that was Friday, and a second slightly smaller case with all of his data, including yesterdays back-up of the internet and a large collection of personal digital photos, and a thick notebook written by none other than Howard Stark. He zipped it closed after tucking the snowy tablet inside. Next to the bag was a sleek black suitcase containing a perfect, beautiful, Iron Man suit. He hauled the bag over his shoulder and grabbed the handle of the case.

Tony looked out over the skyline, into the hazy milky city light that was New York at three am. It was loud, and cold and far too bright.

And it was home.

“Goodbye.”

He doubted he would ever see it again. Not like this. It weighed on him in a way that seemed to set him free. He stepped back onto the sigil and left his anxiety behind. His head tilted upwards to the hidden infinite stars.

"Heimdall?”

A breath of air. And then;

Crash!

A sudden pressure enveloped Tony, stealing his breath and balance. His eyes pressed shut no matter how he tried to open them, but vivid flashes of light coloured his lids. Frantic streaks of yellow and red, a wash of blue, a scream of violet. The world roared like a great beast, tearing at his skin and coat with its violent breath.

His face burned, his heart pounded, his fingers clenched so tightly to his possessions that they tingled.

This was a lot more exciting than Thor had ever made it out to be!

His mind was numb, overcome with sensation. If he had any second thoughts, they were left at the top of his old tower on Earth. It was clear now that the Bifrost didn’t ask permission or take its time, it simply followed the orders of its guardian and grabbed its target. It plucked the Jotnar right up like a little fleck of snow, passing him through the place between worlds, a great and vibrant hand.

Suddenly he was deaf. An instant and jarring silence for a single moment, then the dizzying feeling of himself falling to the ground. His head hit the ground in an echoed boom. His eyes fluttered open in pain, spots dotted his vision. The spectacle of colour merged into an overwhelming gold. Tony winced, holding both hands to his head while it reeled. The room was glistening, a great golden egg with him inside. Spirals and mazes on the ceiling like the one he had traced in the cold, he couldn’t tell if they were really there, or just a mirage clinging to his vision.

The scratch of metal against metal caught Tony’s attention and a shudder of warning passed through him. One, two, and a third to his left; huge soldiers in their opalescent armour; spears pointed threateningly. He couldn’t even see their faces for all the gear they wore. He was quietly regretting not wearing the suit. Behind the three, upon a platform, stood a man that he only knew only from what Thor had told him; Heimdall, watching him with no certain expression.

He had made it.

"You are under arrest,“ Barked a glistening guard from behind him “stand and be escorted."

Arrested? That had to be some kind of record, even for him. Tony choked out a phrase of nervous laughter. He couldn’t be arrested now, not when that’s what he had been escaping all along. Hadn’t he technically been invited to Asgard when Heimdall allowed him to pass through the Bifrost?

“Hold on my big friend, I seek asylum. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

But this only seemed to spook one of them. A stiff metal hand swooped down and crushed his upper arm, pulling him upwards to stand; his swearing filled the room.

“Um ow!” Tony shouted, “not exactly putting up any kind of resistance here, there's no need to be violent." He swayed between them, his head still numb and his arm constricted with pain. The last of his blurry vision was fading though, and beyond the room, he could see the reward for his risk. Asgard.

It stood like a beacon, a bright and vibrant field of glassy spires rising up over a city of bronze. They reached upward into the blackest of skies, washed with an eternal aurora of teal and sapphire. Framing the palace’s marble facade; a range of mountains blushed green with terraces of meadow. From between the bosom of the crags flowed a crystalline river which switched back and forth between tiles of farmland. Before him lay the path. A glittering lane of iridescent stone leading from the open mouth of the Bifrost to the inviting embrace of the God’s City which shone as if to welcome him. It was nothing like he had pictured in his mind, and he couldn’t think of a single time Thor’s stories had done it justice.

A massive pauldron came into view, followed by a thick shirt of mail an ornate vambrace. Heimdall met Tony’s gaze, offering a contemplative look while another guard took his hands firmly. He felt the cool touch of metal cinch them together, but his face remained still, challenging the star swathed eyes that watched him.

"You will be brought to the royal court to face trial for your crime” Ordered a guard.

“I’m no criminal, I’m the shield brother of Thor Odinson” He’d practiced the line a thousand times, once Thor came, everything should be easy. He did wish that the guard to his left would stop manhandling his shit though.

”Be silent, your defense will be heard in the trial” he repeated.

Breaking his inspection Heimdall allowed the guards to pass, his face as blank and unmovable as it had been. Tony was pushed forward roughly and without ceremony, his claims ignored, even when he twisted around and shouted a little louder at old glitter-eyes. His shoulder was forced back forwards and he was made to walk. The small party left the atrium and stepped onto the long wide span of magic and glass.

One blue Tony Stark in a school of armored Asgardian soldiers marched down slowly over the bridge and into the grand and ornate city of Asgard.

Though his stomach clenched with irritation, his expression weakened with curiosity over his surroundings. Their route was straight and direct, past the small white houses that framed the island’s edge, and up a steep staircase that led them through each tier of the city. Stables with horses and noisy inns, wide rows of homes with weathered shutters. A market, quiet now but for a few stalls tidying their wares for the evening, the darkness of night increased under the large swaths of draping fabric over the street. Children chased a goat down an alleyway. A tended garden overlooked by several bright houses. A fountain depicting a massive maiden with a serpentine tail. Immense pillars holding a large overhang that protected a manicured courtyard and in through the enormous double doors of a palace that he could only imagine was build for a king of kings.

He was gone from Earth. From Midgard. He was in space and on an alien planet. Probably the first human to ever step on an inhabited alien planet before.

But of course, Tony Stark wasn’t human. He had never been. And now that his family was falling apart, and SHIELD had started asking too many questions, he could never go back to earth.

His only option was to move forward and to find Thor.


	2. Snow

Whatever hellish creature it was that woke him up that night, Loki fully intended to silence.

After seven weeks on the road with Thor, Sif and the Warriors three this was his first night without hearing the chatter of midnight stories and the twin snoring of Hogun and Volstagg. He had even left the feast early to get away from their boisterous laughter. Just darkness and the absolute blissful pleasure relaxing of his own feather bed, which embraced him in a way that was wonderfully contrasting to the hard, sandy earth they had been lucky to travel upon. Why Thor had even suggested they go hunting with the flighty and frustrating meadow elves in the first place was completely beyond him. The hunt had been fruitless.

He was jolted awake again. It was the second string of yelling, but at least the third broken chair splintering on the level above him. It trembled not only the walls but shook Loki into wakefulness each time. The feral growl that ushered from his lips as he finally drew himself up out of bed was so frightful that even his hound opted to continue resting by the fire instead of getting up and investigating the matter. Loki snatched up his evening coat which lay cascaded over a chair and wrapped it tightly around himself. He unlocked the door, allowing the sharp light of the hallway to flood in. The sudden feeling of warmth in contrast to his quarters made him shudder, and his pupils constricted uncomfortably. Loki pushed his hair out of his face and slammed the door behind him.

There was no one around on his floor, the halls of the castle were still and empty after all of the alcohol and food from the meal before was consumed. He strode through the halls with purpose, listening intently for the murmur. Above him, he could hear voices arguing, one speculating and the other accusing, a deep rumbling tone that Loki knew well. He took the stairs two at a time, silk sweeping like a shadow. He rounded the final flight; Loki slowed, ears sharp.

“-One of those monsters in Asgard. I don’t care where it says it’s from, the people would never understand.”

“They don’t have to understand, you’re the Allfather. Regardless of their own opinions, the only one that matters, is yours. The very idea of sending a refugee to Jotunheimr-“

“And what should you have me do Frigga? If anyone were to find out that there was one of _those_ on Midgard this whole time there will be hysteria.”

“Might I remind you that your son shares that same heritage and you were perfectly willing to spare his life and allow him to stay here in Asgard.”

“Yes but -“

“So tell me why this man isn’t worthy of the same protection?”

Clearly, Odin’s face gave up the wrong answer, and as he was welcomed with what Loki could only guess was a large ceramic dish thrown violently at the wall. It wasn't often that something caused a stir between Frigga and the All-Father, and the last he remembered had been circled dangerously close to this very subject, his heritage. For the most part, he tried to forget about the incident. Even now he actively muted the details from his mind. His identity, under the flawless guise of an As, was known to none but the family, though Frigga shouting about him for all to hear wasn’t exactly comforting. Still, Loki’s haze of frustration gave way somewhat.

If it was his mother that was intent on destroying furniture and subsequently, his sleep, then he could allow it. After all, it was her alone that could stand up to any of the nonsense decisions that the All-father made. Taking the second crash as his cue to leave, the young prince quietly made his way back down the staircase where he had come, taking each stair slowly as he soaked in the conversation he had overheard.

The news of a refugee on Asgard brought with it a flicker of interest. It explained the tightened security when they had traveled back into the realm from Alfheim and the noted absence of the King and Queen at their _victory_ dinner. Asgard had always been tentative when it came to opening its doors to others. They had too many secrets, literature and weapons, and gardens of immortalizing fruit. Not something they'd see land in the hands of another species without a fight.

Still, Frigga said this uninvited guest was Jotunn, why would a man of that race seek asylum in Asgard to begin with? And how had it come to be on Midgard? How that was possible without Heimdall or Odin realizing sooner, then gaining access to the Bifrost from it, was beyond him. As far as Loki knew, a creature of Jötunheimr traveling to Asgard, regardless of intention, would be seen as declaring an act of war, not asylum. It was no secret to any realm that the Aesir held a deep prejudice against the frost giants, and for a fair reason, Loki couldn’t remember an occasion of a Jotunn intentionally traveling to Asgard without malicious intent. Besides himself of course. The only explanation would be a ruse, something didn’t add up. Still, his mother seemed determined to keep the Jotunn from returning to Jötunheimr, (a perfectly generous punishment as far as Loki was concerned, especially considering it could have useful information regarding Jötunheimr’s plans, should they be considering an invasion of some sort.)

He came to a stop at the door to his quarters, weighing his options. He was tired, essentially dead on his feet, but curious, and the odds of getting a good night’s sleep with the ongoing conversation upstairs seemed unlikely. Something about the Jotunn imprisoned on Asgard struck a chord with Loki. Perhaps the giant was a spy? Sent to inspect the deep bowls of Asgard’s cells, looking for weaknesses. Or it had used a form of magic to sway Frigga into believing it’s innocence. To alter the mind of the queen with magic seemed deeply improbable. And yet… Loki knew that in the end when his mother put her mind to something she was capable of pushing Odin in the direction she favoured. It would be a valuable angle to use. Was this how Jötunheimr would start another war? By creating chaos among the royal family and from there the rest of their government. If there was more distrust between Jötunheimr and Asgard it could mean serious implications for him. If anyone were to find out his true heritage in the middle of a conflict between the two worlds, it could mean far worse than imprisonment. Loki chewed his lip a bit too forcefully and a metallic taste broke his reverie.

He would seek out his own answers.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

He began the descent into the humid darkness below the castle, each stair building anticipation. There were one hundred and sixty-seven steps down into the dungeons. A long way. Long enough for him to have counted them. He had been down there more than eight times before, and nearly all of them with chains around his wrists, so going freely was a refreshing change of pace. Guards were posted sporadically, barely even acknowledging his presence. Some stood, others leaned against the walls, slimy moisture accumulated against their armour, darkening the leather. If they cared about him visiting, none mentioned it.

His boots echoed down into the cavernous deep, the scuffing and tapping creating a strange melody that chanted back at him. The stone around him leaked slowly; sweating into the prison. His hair and clothing stuck to his skin. The air was thick and foul and dark.

When he approached the final landing a glow crept outward from the deep, grasping at him and drawing the prince in. He blinked away spots of darkness.

Each prisoner was held in their own perfectly square chamber of light. There were no apparent doors, and most prisoners spent their time viewing those guards (or Loki) who chose to walk between the rows of cells. Beings held within Odin’s prison were trapped their own small world, each containing nothing but the barest of essentials. A table in some, a chair in others, and in that one, the cell Loki was immediately drawn to? A small cot, and mounds of thick white _snow_.

Loki blinked. Snow wasn’t uncommon in Asgard, even the mountains that surrounded the city there were often places that had snow all year long, but to have it here… In the deepest levels of the palace where the heat and humidity were visceral. This was magic. Magic he hadn’t seen before. He stepped forwards, emerald eyes sweeping the little room for it’s captive. His hand reached up mechanically to touch the golden barrier, feeling for the relief of cold, but there was none. Every ounce of trickery and skill was carefully retained within the cube. His hand left a mark of moisture when he removed it. His long fingers carefully outlined in condensation.

His eyes caught a shift of movement, a glimmer of blue under glittering white snow. It had buried itself, shifting now only to tilt it’s obscured face towards him. Two bright red eyes, smiling up.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Princess. Come to break me out of jail?”

Loki’s stomach dropped. His voice was hauntingly familiar. Casual, flippant and frustratingly confident. Too confident for someone penned up in a cell under Asgard.

The man stretched his arms and arched his back in a languid, lazy motion, slowly standing up. Snow tumbled away, revealing the sky-like quality to his skin, and the dark pencil-thin markings that blemished it. Muscular arms, and strange Midgardian clothing. Shaggy black hair and a beard cut short and angular and strange around his mouth and chin. Loki watched him, fascinated. Terrified.

How was it that this man, this very mortal man, now wore the skin of a Jotunn? Yet he did not bear the monstrous traits of the creatures on Jötunheimr. There were no fangs, nor growths of ice. No rumbling breath or insatiable violence. His appearance was just as it had been on Midgard when they met many years ago, just…different.

Stark leaned against the barrier, brushing his fingers down his shirt and pants, trying to clear away the snow, but the needy flakes that clung to him floated around, playfully defying gravity for a moment before settling back upon him. “So those guys that brought me here, they kinda stole my stuff. Could you do me a solid and get that back to me? It’s sort of all I have left of home, ya know what I mean?”

“Why…” Loki was at a complete loss.

“Uh, I don’t like it when people take my stuff? I get the whole _finders_ _keepers_ thing, but the guy literally pried it out of my hands. That doesn’t really count, in my books.”

“ _What_?” Loki shook his head, taking a step back “not your things, you fool, your _skin_. Why is your skin that of a Frost Giant?”

“Oh, that! Well, I figured I probably shouldn’t try to keep any secrets from old one-eye up there, so I took off my makeup.”

“Makeup.”

“Just a figure of speech, Rudolph. You should understand, rumor has it you’ve got some blue raspberry happening under all that too.” The Midgardian wiggled his fingers at him vaguely.

Oh. _Oh_. This was not permissible. This could absolutely not stand. Anthony Stark knew that he was a Frost Giant, and beyond that was a Frost Giant himself, in the dungeons of Asgard. Right under his feet. How in the gods did Frigga feel it was okay to pardon this man? How had he not realized before? More than once Loki had come in contact, had fought against him hand on hand and never once did he think for a second- he had been fooled.

Loki took another step back, eager to get those disgusting eyes off of him. “I will not be retrieving your belongings, foul creature.”

“Could you at least let Thor know I’m here? I keep telling the guards but they’re playing deaf.”

“He is not on Asgard.”

“Wow, you could just say no, don’t need to lie about it.”

Loki swallowed. He needed to leave. He needed to speak to Frigga.

“Lo-Loki! Tell Thor!”

Stark’s shout followed him up the stairs, drowned out by quick feet and the echo of his own breath and his heart which, unbidden, raced with anxiety.


	3. Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is dedicated to Leona <3

Loki skipped the remainder of the stairs once he was out of sight and teleported directly to his sanctuary. It was the place he always visited to get away from his troubles, the heart of Asgard’s royal library.

It was as old as anyone could remember, even older than most of the castle. Its walls had fought off battles and fire and time, and proudly showed it. In one place you could even see inscriptions from the sons of Bor, who had originally constructed Asgard as a home for the Aesir long ago. It was untouched and old, and most importantly; filled with shelves upon shelves of books. The perfect cure for a troubled mind.

His heart was still tight in his chest after seeing that creature in the basement. It was nothing like what he had expected. Thor’s _friend_ , the one with the vile light in his chest, was on Asgard. By all rights, the man should be dead, not just from Loki himself but also from mortal _age_. So that was it then, the man truly must be… He was of Jötunheimr.

Loki made his way deeper into the library. It was so dark between the aisles, even the sparse candlelight was barely enough light his way, but the prince was practiced. At the end of the frayed carpet, he rounded the corner right, and followed the massive windows to the far corner of the library, overlooking his mother’s garden. Down here was the place with the thickest tomes. Barely used these days which resulted in general privacy. Waiting for him was an over-sized emerald armchair with a gold blanket tossed over one of the arms and on the table a few bound texts and a large empty cup. This spot was his and his alone lit up through the glass by the glossy moon and blushing stars. He eased himself into the chair, sighing with bliss. He leaned his back against one of the arms and rested his long legs over the other. The blanket came next, tucked in carefully, and then he grabbed the mug. He paused. This was usually the time when he would make himself a hot cup of Idun’s tea, but he stopped with his hand over the top of it.

He thought of the snow cast in thick piles around the Midgardian hero, flecks falling from an invisible cloud. Tangled lace frost that clung to his skin and clothes. A chill Loki could see, but not touch. Tendrils of a magic he had never used. It couldn’t be much different than tea. It couldn’t be more complicated. Not for a Jotunn.

Loki shook his head and filled the cup with the hottest water he could muster. It burned to his hands, and he held it tightly, closing his eyes and trying to burn away his thoughts. He brought it under his chin and breathed out. It steamed his face, droplets of water condensing in a sickly looking shine up his skin. He breathed in the wet heat feeling it moisten his nose and lungs. He shuddered. Clinging to the feeling. To erase the thoughts of blue. The thoughts of gold. The thoughts of red.

— — — —

“You’re up late” Cooed a voice.

Loki jumped with a start, slopping the now-cold tea over the front of his shirt and over a book which lay with its pages open on the carpet. He swore, then tilted his head back in defeat, laughing softly. “I was just thinking of you, mother.”

She mused, picking up the book he had abandoned weeks ago, drying it with her long sleeves. “I’m afraid I’m the reason you’re not asleep after your long trip abroad, is this so?” she turned the cover, inspecting his reading tastes with a curious smile

“Mmm no” Loki lied, straightening to sit in his chair properly. They shared a knowing glance before the sat on the table, flipping through his other books.

“I fear your father may be gravely injured,” and at his look of concern Frigga smiled ruefully “just his pride, I assure you. Sometimes that man can be more stubborn than a Guihound.” She looked strained, hiding it as much as she could, but Loki could tell by the way his mother held herself so casually. She leaned back, on one hand, book propped between her legs which were crossed, the long dress she wore was askew, swaths of fabric lying between them and crowding the chair and carpet and books. She only looked this way in the rarest of moments. Like the middle of the night, after a long argument.

“May I ask what it is you were speaking about?” pried Loki gently

Frigga hummed “ Well you’ll hear about it soon enough anyway I’m sure. Though this is to stay within the family.” She warned. “Heimdall reported to us many years back that there had been a Jotunn child on Midgard. We barely thought of it at the time, so preoccupied with the war as we were. Eventually, we had forgotten about it entirely. The odds of a child, Jotunn no less, surviving on its own was so small, and when they’re young they’re no threat at all. Even to a mortal human. I suppose they realized this. The child was reared by a mortal family and in time had a child of his own.”

Loki wrinkled his nose. “Raised by Midgardians? Why would they save a child of the enemy?”

“Well by then we don’t think that humans weren’t all that involved. They lost many of course but mortal lives are short. In time, with the intervention of our warriors, they had very little to fear. I suppose they must have felt pity for the child.”

“Who would feel pity for the child of a monster.” His voice felt like gravel in his throat.

Frigga frowned at him sidelong. One of those mothering looks that squeezed his heart  _just so_. “Loki please say you don’t mean that”

“And why wouldn’t I?”

“My child,” She leaned forward and took his hand “it isn’t someone’s blood that makes them who they are. It’s everything else. No good comes from hating an entire species simply because of the way they look, or how a few individuals act. It’s their spirit Loki, the spirit of each that matters.” She sighed, looking up past him and at the stars out the window. “I feel like I’m having the same conversation over and over. You should rest. Lingering on this will not aid you. Your restless mind with simply conjure evil thoughts.” Frigga stood, reaching out to touch his face for a moment, brushing her fingers down the curve of his cheek. “Try to get some sleep.” And she left.

\- - -

When Loki woke he was in his bed. The light of the morning was streaming through the open windows, thin curtains blowing gently in the warm breeze. A bird sat there, pecking at the sill. He watched it for some time, unwilling to untangle himself from the mess of blankets he’d slept in. His clothing was scattered across the floor, pieces showing the half-conscious trail from the door to his bedroom. A table was tipped over, lamp shattered in shades of blue and green glass.

He pushed his long leg out from under the blankets, resting his foot on the cold floor. Unwilling to stay in bed, but unwilling to leave. He traced the warm skin under his hand absently, feeling the tightness of the muscle under the smooth, unblemished white. His thumb slipped under the edge of the fabric, ghosting the inner thigh. A warmth in his groin grew tentatively.

It was his first private moment in nearly two months. Every piss, every bath always accompanied by one person or another, never alone when they were on a hunt. Brethren knew each other, as well as they knew themselves. But Loki had always been a private person, and the thought of doing something like this in front of one of them was more of a turn off than anything. Something about sharing that kind of depravity didn’t sit well with him, though they had clearly thought otherwise. More than once had he been within earshot of the eager moans of his brother.

He blocked the thought from his mind.

Loki shifted, licking his lips. He tilted his hips into a more comfortable position, creeping the gentle touch downward. Savoring the slowness. He piqued his cock’s interest, but he reached past it, cupping the warm softness of his sack, pulling it gently, massaging it in one hand with languid movements. His breath quivered. The pleasure gradually spread. His toes curled. Loki pushed the blanket away with his other hand, clutching his cock when it was clear of the fabric. It wept slowly, beads of pre-cum making the tip shiny and blushed. He ran his finger over it, feeling the delicate slit, exhaling quietly when he brushed back and forth teasingly. His fingers shook, body fighting his mind. His hand held the long shaft with a teasing grip, but he forced his arm to be still. He tilted his head back and slowly thrust upward into his massaging hand. Every ridge of his fingers rubed the sensitive skin of his prick, pressing and squeezing it with an easy familiarity. His eyes grew dark. He shifted again, leaning on one elbow so he could look down at himself, at his own cock, needy and pink pressed through the tightening grip of his own hand. His pace grew, rhythmically fucking. A gentle twist of the wrist drew a gasp from his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, pleasure building within the depth of his groin. An unexpected _gods_ escaped him. Loki trembled. Hand unable to keep still, it hurriedly pumped, matching the driving pace in a syncopated jerk. His own deep moan pushed him over the edge, a sound of pure desire. A ribbon of white cum painted his leg. He hissed with pleasure, milking himself for every last ounce before leaning back into the pillows. He panted. Spent.

An hour later Loki hauled himself out of bed and wandered to the washing room, brushing long locks out of his eyes. He closed the door, locked it, and muttered a half-hearted ward under his breath. The room was damp and warm, rumbling quietly from the boiler above. He stretched and looked himself over in the mirror. His skin bore the lines of laziness, creases from the blankets imprinted on his back and ass. Flakes of dried pleasure clung to his legs and fingers, stiffening the skin. His face was tired, dark circles betrayed the long night he spend in the library, and the subsequent day and a half of sleep. He was never himself after a long trip abroad. Something about sleeping out in the wilds made him fitful, unrested. There was no place like a proper bed.

He pulled aside the silk curtain which hid the shower and stepped inside. It was an alcove lined with rocks and little pebbles, dark with steam and heat, which clung to him at once. He breathed in the condensation gratefully, clearing his system of sleep and depravity. On the far wall was a tap, which he turned slowly, ushering a fall of water from above. Hot, unrelenting cascade soaked him at once, flattening his hair and reddening his skin. Loki sighed gratefully under the thunderous noise. He could feel his stress wash off with the sweat. His frustration over the hunt, his irritation with the elves, and his mother’s overt defense about his Jotunn blood. Loki scratched his fingers into the softening skin of his shoulders, leaving linear red welts. Now, after expecting a well-deserved break, he had that gnawing at the back of his mind. The creature imprisoned below the castle, covered in magical snow and cerulean flesh. A body like his bearing the red eyes of a monster.

Loki scrubbed his face, rubbing away the images of him.

He unscrewed the lid to a dish of soap, scooping out the thick gold liquid. The scent of it mingled with the water, frothing into a lovely cream colour that melted over his skin. The musty bergamot and delicate vanilla were a favourite of his, paired together effortlessly in a wonderful, warm sweetness. He rubbed it in generously, working his way downward. First his hair, long and tangled in the water. The black locks soaked up the mixture, only to be rinsed out much smoother than before. Next his face, and his neck, he massaged the sore muscles in his shoulders, his arms, and his wrists. Next his hands, thoroughly washed, and then his back, which he twisted slightly to reach every part of, straining to clean the part between his shoulder blades. Suds ran down his hips, caressing his delicates. He washed these gently, sure to get every inch between his thighs before moving down to the legs. Completely bare of any hairs his legs were easiest, a gentle rub to wake up his skin, and a quick massage of the feet, one at a time. When he was done Loki allowed himself another minute to stand under the hot water before turning it off. He pulled aside the curtain and stepped out. He wrapped a large wool towel around his shoulders and covered his face in the corners of it, blocking out the light. The boiler rumbled. The water trickled and dripped off his body. He sighed.

There was only so long he could hide. 


	4. Forge

His closet was full, clean and smelled like civilization. He pulled out one jacket just to press his nose into the crook of its fabrics and breathe in the immaculate familiarity. It had that lingering warmth of home. Not quite a scent or a feeling. It was a satisfying cloy of comfort that steeped in him. At one point he might have chosen to throw away that wash of sentimentality, but now he donned his clothes with absolute care, one piece at a time while admiring the fit of them in a pane of reflective glass. Even these, something simple and worn well and showing its age even when cleaned, was so carefully tailored and loved. The plain tunic was sewn at the collar with gold thread, and the cuffs were lined with a supple leather stained black. His pants had a pocket for a small blade at the thigh and a single hole punched through the belt which sat fine and high on his hips. A vest which swept low past his waist and buttoned flush behind a narrow braided panel as not to catch on anything. Thin woollen socks pressed over his feet and into supple boots, wrapped with gaiters that tied seamlessly over both with matching leather straps. He drew again the coat he had pulled out initially and swung it up and over his shoulders, cinching the sides comfortably and running his hands down the sides of it, dipping into the pockets. One had a silvery coin and the second a small white bone carved into a pin.

Behind him, the chuff of a bird caught his attention. A ragged tremolo of notes that he was more than familiar with. Upon the cil where earlier a sparrow had been, now sat a large scraggly raven, one small eye glazed and grey with blindness. Under a taloned foot was a silver cuff of metal closed over a roll of paper.

Loki discarded the items from his pocket on a low table and strode to the bird, brushing the animal aside to take the message it had delivered.

“Go now, no spying.” Loki all but pushed it off the ledge, bumping his knuckles into the bird’s breast and wing to urge it away and into the sky again. Huginn bayed mournfully and snapped his wings, hopping away from Loki’s earnest pushes and diving out of the window. Loki watched it go before sliding out the note he knew to be a court summary.

Odin’s ravens often brought Loki the news when he didn’t sit in on the weekly council gathering. Today he could have attended, but his sleep had been so interrupted and his mind clouded that he’d felt no guilt in forgoing it. The paper was crisp and snapped in his fingers when he pulled it open, scanning the fine scrawling hand. It disclosed accounts of the palaces comings and goings during the time that he had been away. The early spring harvest had gone well and a summers eve hunt was being planned to celebrate the upcoming birthday of Thor Odinson. Delegates from Vanaheimr were due to arrive for a months stay just after this, so it was imperative that the hunt be fruitful. This was inconsequential nonsense, certainly worth missing until he began to fold the note in half and noticed a continuation on the reverse. This was a different writing, still neat but concise and less looping. The technical hand of a studied teacher or mage. The curve of the F’s was a little too strong, and the A’s had a little curl at the end. He stood straighter and read on.

_Dearest Loki,_

_One day hence will be the trial of the Jotunn man who has come to Asgard seeking asylum. It is my desire to see you there as a member of council to deliberate upon the verdict._

_Do not tarry._

_Frigga_

Loki chewed his cheek taking in the implication his mother had written. She was asking him to weigh in on the fate of Anthony Edward Stark, though he was sure she was as of yet still unaware of the man's connection to Thor. If she had known, he was sure the man would be released without a trial and ushered straight into the other prince’s custody unharmed. No, her ambition was still focused on the prisoner’s bestial blood and what she thought his presence could do for Loki. This soft stunted Frost Giant who lived among the mortals, peaceful and gentle and unbothered by his - what had the man called it? _Blue raspberry._ Norns knew what that implied. Frigga wanted Loki to see that not all of his kin were the savage uncouth warriors of his childhood stories. Not the creatures that he feared so severely as a child that a light was left on in his room, and the door ajar so he could see Thor across the hall, sleeping similarly. What cruel irony indeed it had been to learn that his fears were justified. There indeed had been a Jotunn in his room at night all those years ago.

Loki gripped the paper firmly, barely restraining the urge to tear it when he thought of the _injustice_ of his true lineage. And he had tried, after the incident with the Bifrost and the breaking of the bridge. He had tried not to come to terms with the blue skin he knew lay beneath the white but to _ignore_ it and do so effectively. His mind purged of all thought to those _monsters_ and their skin and the frost they wove into fear that lingered in him.

No. These things were locked away, not allowed to be thought or spoken of. He was of Asgard, a prince, and a son to two Asgardians. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing different.

And yet Frigga was so keen to open the wound and press inside the crooked smile of _Stark_ , or whomever that monster claimed to be.

He needed a plan to dissuade her, and he had one day to force it into action.

\- - -

Twenty minutes time had him slipping through a servants door and into the back of the kitchens where the clatter of plates and feet and voices met him. He passed unseen, shifting carefully between the working staff who bore hot trays of pastry out and onward to the great halls. He ducked between a grocer and a cook who argued over the quality of a fat plucked hen and nearly collided with a young woman drying a soaking pot on her apron. Pausing only to tuck a slice of sweet bread into his pocket, and relocate a bit of dried fish from a plate to his mouth, he timed his escape with the opening of a second door and emerged into the sunlight of a back alley unnoticed and unsuspected.

The cobbles here were worn with traffic, wagons and small cargo ships and horses brought wares on a daily basis to the castle’s kitchens and the bustle of it made his coming and going all the more discreet. Not that he would do so without casting a glamour on himself, something as foolish as that would have the entire system brought to a quick and tedious halt. Thor had followed him in once and had been accosted with greetings and bows and the offering of food, hands to shake, cooing and thanking of his presence in such a place. Loki, of course, was not one to make such mistakes, and in time Thor too had accepted his quarry lost if Loki were to escape into the more servant friendly areas of their home.

With thoughts of Thor at the front of his mind, Loki hopped up on the side of a small craft that was parked astride a high wall. He swung himself to the roof and leapt, fingers catching the high edge of brickwork three feet up. He hauled his chest up and with two hands shifted his weight and sat upon the narrow precipices for a moment, looked over the other edge, and casually jumped down.

This side of the wall was a cluster of small outbuildings, wood mostly with thatched roofs, but a few had aspects of newer additions which included electricity and glass windows and painted doors. This place was home to most of the tradesmen who worked directly for or alongside the guardsman of Asgard. It was loud with the sound of working forges and hooves and laughter. A small delivery class ship hovered down the street outside a leatherwork alongside a sleek black stallion pulling a single seat cart.

This blend of technology was newer for Asgard, who has always been a world buried deep in stagnant tradition, but the advances of Vanaheimr were hurriedly becoming adopted by the Aesir as travel through the realms was more readily accepted among not just the wealthier families, but merchants and tradesmen too.

Loki passed the leatherwork to the right and continued along a narrow lane flanked by low walls covered in round petaled ivy. At the end of this road was a dark brown house, open-sided, with a large red furnace that glowed with activity. Tending it was a man who was large and blonde and had ash covering one side of his face, tinting his beard.

Thor pulled out a small crescent from the flames and pressed it into the anvil, slamming his hammer into it so the glowing red metal split and flaked, revealing brighter steel beneath the cooling crust. He hit twice more and held the shoe up, assessing the shape, seeming satisfied and quenching it in a deep bath of muddy oil that hissed loudly.

Loki pulled a heavy leather apron from a hook and draped it over his neck, tying the thongs in behind. Thor looked up from his work and smiled brightly.

“I am pleased to see you this morn, brother. Did you rest well?”

“As well as could be expected. I think Mother broke that Dwarvish vase you bought her over Father’s head last night in a quarrel. I suspect a few chairs fell victim to the argument as well.”

“Not the red one.”

“It sounded red.” Loki’s lips quirked into a half smile at Thor’s crestfallen face. He had no idea _which_ ceramic object had been hurled at the wall, but he certainly couldn’t have guessed the colour of it by sound alone. This fact was irrelevant to Thor who simply took his brothers words at face value, grieving his gift.

“What in Valhalla were they arguing about? I noticed they were not at our welcome feast, but it is unlike them to miss such a thing over a petty dispute.”

“It seems in our absence Asgard has again been visited by our friends the Frost Giants. One has come through the Bifrost seeking peace and a home here.”

Thor blinked in stunned surprise before barking out a laugh. “You must be joking.”

From his pocket, Loki produced the handwritten note signed by their mother and it was quickly read. Thor turned the page over and skimmed the council notes, confusion plain on his brow. He dug a blackened hand into his trousers and revealed an identical note, though terribly crumpled. The back side of his own was blank.

“Why is it that I was not requested for this trial? Have I not the right as much as you to see Asgard protected by foreign invaders?”

Loki back-pedalled a moment. The last thing he needed was Thor seeing Anthony Stark, if indeed the creature was Anthony Stark. A frost giant knowing his most guarded secret was far worse when he was friends with Thor. One slip of the tongue and the entire palace could find out. Even if he ended up being an imposter, someone as thick-headed as Thor might fall for that trick and again Loki was put at risk. He couldn’t afford for them to see one another.

Loki leaned against a bench and let a bit of shame play over his face. “Frigga is concerned with how I am coping with my heritage. When I visited her this morning she told me this might be an opportunity for me to find closure on the matter of my… of Laufey. It would not be necessary to have you look upon my disgrace, nor welcomed.”

Thor pressed a hand against Loki’s arm, forcing a stern look into him. “Your blood has no bearing in Asgard, Loki. If it were not your wish to stay quiet then you could see how easily the people would accept you. Your magic and skill are beloved my brother. You are proven in action, not in parentage.”

This time the shame Loki felt was real, gurgling up like acid and churning his stomach. His face hardened into a mask. “I shall give you a full report after if you so wish.”

“What I wish is to support you, but I do not know how.”

Ah, and there it was, an easy line to grab. Loki forced a smile and patted Thor’s arm in return. “Allow me to heal my wounds in my own way. I shall let you know how the trial ends in the evening tomorrow.” Thor returned the expression, uncertain but still yielding. _Loki had won._

Eager to chase away his discomfort Loki looked again to the quenched half circle that Thor had been forging. “Who are you shoeing today?”

“Mothers horse lost two shoes on their last hunt when she fell into the river, I’ve been hammering out a few replacements.”

“Would you like some help?”

Thor’s smile lost its strain and he nodded his head “It would please me to have it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes Act 1, Part 1!
> 
> Coming up next is the beginning of Loki and Tony spending quite a bit more time together, to the absolute dismay of our favourite mischief maker.
> 
> Cheers!


	5. Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that time I said this chapter would be the beginning of Loki and Tony actually speaking to one another for realsies? 
> 
> Well, I lied.

Frigga’s stallion liked to _bite_. The beast was faster than most, surefooted in a sprint and arguably more beautiful than any other in their realm. But it was also disagreeable and proud and unruly.

“Mind your teeth Sólhvít, I can feel what you’re doing.”

The horse snorted into Loki’s side where it had been snuffling for something, anything, that might be hiding in his pockets. Loki stretched up one arm around the peak of its neck and fastened the silver thong of his bridle in place. The horse nosed him more roughly and pushed the trickster off balance. He gripped a handful of white mane and cursed.

“You nuisance!” A swat beat the side of his white neck. “I don’t know what she sees in you, but if you keep this up Mother will be getting a riding elk as a midsummers gift.”

The horse screamed a whinny and tossed his head, Loki instinctually retreated back a step. The horse reared his great mass upwards off his front legs, braying and watching Loki with one wild eye. It fell, beat the ground, and rose again, kicking out.

Loki slid into a defensive stance and stared the beast down with cold disapproval.

It struck a hoof on the ground and dragged it back, snapping his teeth.

A swell of magic welled in him and he forced it outwards in an invisible burst. It broke over the stallion in a wave and the creature came crashing down on his hooves. The entire stable trembled up to its beams. The horse brayed, panted, and lowered his head. Loki too was panting from the effort, a bead of sweat sliding down his face. He stared Sólhvít through narrowed eyes for a long minute with the electric tension of magic held between them.

“Are you quite done?”

Sólhvít bared his teeth but the fire in him had died. Loki slowly eased his hold upon the creature and approached, touching the cream curve of its cheek.

“She must have a thing for difficult men.” Griped Loki with a shake of his head. The horse’s eyes glittered.

When Loki pulled at the leather bridle with a finger he was obediently followed.

He walked Sólhvít back to the forge and did not ride him. It wasn’t especially far, but thirty minutes had passed since he’d spoken to Thor before their workshop came back into view. Thor was sharpening the biting end of a pair of clippers, gently honing the curved edges so they would trim hooves without fuss. The ever familiar smile on his face broadened when he saw the two of them, Loki pulling back Sólhvít’s excited head but increasing his pace at the urging prance of the horse.

“Sóly you clumsy fool, I heard what happened to mother.” The stallion pressed his snout into Thor’s hands, snuffling and swivelling his ears excitedly. Thor laughed and gave the horse a quick peck on the head and a smack on the neck. “Be more careful with her, she can not be replaced as easily as a few shoes.” A chuff and more nosing. Thor gave a wink to Loki and pulled an apple from his back pocket, tucking it into the horse’s lips.

“You spoil him.”

“I find if he’s well fed, he is less temperamental.”

“Feeding him from your pockets will only make it worse.”

“But he is the happier all the same.” Thor laughed, tidying the horse’s forelock. “Here, I shall keep him occupied and you tend to his feet. It’s the rear two that need repairing.”

Loki relinquished the reins and crossed to the forge table. He tucked the two shoes Thor had created into a pocket of his apron with a handful of nails, grabbed the sharpened nipping tool and moved carefully behind the bright white horse. He stroked the creatures glowing coat as he moved before carefully lifting the rear leg and half-kneeling to trim the nail.

His mind wandered for a moment to equally white grinning teeth and piles of glaring snow in tormenting heat.

His stomach twisted with discomfort.

It was time to speak to Thor.

It was what he had come for, after all.

The metal bite clipped down upon Sólhvít’s hoof and pared off a sliver. Thor passed him a rasp with a smile that was almost encouraging.

Throwing caution to the wind Loki returned the smile but with a crease of worry.

“Can I ask now?”

“Ask what?” puzzled Thor, surprised by Loki’s sudden concern.

“Ask of the funeral.”

Thor sighed, looking at Loki sheepishly like he’d expected this conversation eventually. “You do not need to force interest into their lives, Loki. I know you care little for mortals.”

“That is true, but it is less them I am concerned for and more you. Since your return and throughout our trip you did not mention the good Captain’s funeral once. I thought you might want to speak on it, and I have an ear; at least until I am finished shoeing.”

“Twenty minutes to speak my sorrow?”

“I promise to hurry if I grow bored.” Said Loki with a half-quelled smile.

“I will not weary you with their triviality.” Said Thor softly.

“Shall I change into Sif? I am sure she would be much sweeter to watch do this work, and an easier face to speak to.”

“Please do not.”

“Well then you had better start talking, or I will take it as an open invitation.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Nineteen and a quarter now.”

Thor shook his head and huffed half in humour, half in frustration. “Well, I admit I did want to speak to you on some matter of the event that concerned me.” They shared a look that said Loki knew this, and Thor was grateful. “I suppose I shall just start then,”

Loki rasped away the rough edges of Sólhvít’s hoof without looking at it, relying on muscle memory. Every ounce of him was honed in on Thor, watching with the intensity of a wolf hunting a deer. For Thor’s part, he was half-turned away, oblivious to Loki’s rapt attention.

“It was a very strange event on the whole. Far stranger than the other funerals I have attended on Midgard.”

“Oh?”

“I met with Tony Stark, but instead of mournful he was agitated and cautious. He seemed concerned that someone may be following him.”

Loki’s eyes widened at his _luck_ , and Thor mistook this for incredulity.

“No, we _were_ being followed. He drove us a long way, far out of the city, and when I told him that we would be better flying -you’ll remember he has that armour machine- he said that he was no longer able to do so, banned by - actually I don’t know who he said he was banned by, Naftay maybe? I had not heard of this organization previously.

“So we drove in silence into the countryside when Tony said that there was a vehicle following us, and there was. It stayed behind us the entire journey, and when we arrived at headquarters it parked outside of the entrance and no one got out. It was very suspicious, I agree, but Tony was indescribably angry. Never had I seen him in such quiet fury. Had I not been so used to you, Loki-“

This earned him a set of narrowed green eyes.

“Well, I did not say anything about it, as you might imagine. When we arrived inside there were very few people present, and the ceremony began. You may not understand the strangeness of this but the Avengers are celebrated on Midgard. The funerals for Bruce and Natasha were chaotic with how many wanted to pay their respects.”

Loki frowned but stayed silent.

“After we had said our peace I asked Tony why no others were invited, and he told me,” Thor shook his head, baffled, “He told me that the Captain had _requested_ it.”

“The Midgardians create documents in preparation for their death, do they not?”

“They do, but I do not think this would be something he would ask for. The Captain never made any action without reason, and to forbid those who -while not knowing him directly- still mourned his death to attend his funeral? Tony Stark, certainly, but Steve Rogers? No.”

“Perhaps he spoke to someone in the time leading to his death?”

“This also crossed my mind, but you must remember that his death was sudden, and despite his mortal age he was under the influence of a lost science that granted him longevity beyond a mortals life.”

“Might he still have prepared?”

“He would have no reason to. He looked no older than forty.” Thor’s face darkened, and he looked at Loki very seriously.

“And that is when I realized that I had missed something quite obvious.”

Loki shifted uncomfortably, pausing from his work.

“I happened to see Tony looking at some photographs, a few from when we worked together against _you_ to be precise. I mentioned how good we all looked then, young and healthy. He says to me _well you look the same as ever, of course_ , and without thinking I reply _as do you_. And it was only then that I saw it.”

Loki’s heart skipped a beat and then galloped forwards as he put the pieces together. The next words Thor spoke may well have come out of his own mouth.

“He still looks the same.”

Thor let a pause between them grow for a moment. Loki idly tapped in a nail just to keep himself from looking as swept over by this news as Thor did.

“He took my wrist then,” His brother started, quietly “he pulled me down so he could speak into my ear and he told me that he needed to speak in private the next time I came to Midgard. I told him we could speak right then, but he refused. He told me they were already suspicious of him. _Following him._ ”

“Thor the funeral was nearly eight weeks ago,” Loki’s voice was a whisper.

“Yes, but with the hunt, we only just returned.”

“You haven’t spoken to him at all about this since that day?”

“No, and nothing else of consequence happened. We drove back to New York together, the dark vehicle following as before, and when I bade my farewell, Tony once again reminded me to seek him out the next time I was in Midgard.” Thor sighed “I was, and still am concerned for his safety. When I came back to Asgard I asked Heimdall to keep an eye out for Tony on my behalf but I received no news at all from Heimdall in the time we were gone, so I must assume nothing has happened. Speaking of this though, it does make me want to return sooner than later. There is something strange going on with my friend and I want to find out exactly what it is.”

“You should leave tomorrow.”

“What?” Thor straightened, surprised.

“You should leave tomorrow, early, before the sun. It will do you good to have this burden off your mind. I can see how it weighs on you.”

“Tomorrow,”

“When you return we may both speak freely of our burdens, mine of the trial and yours of Tony Stark.”

Thor nodded slowly at this, the plan forming in his mind slowly, but gaining traction.

“Yes, yes, I will leave tomorrow.”

Loki struck the last nail into Sólhvít’s hoof and released the horse from his grip. “Then that is settled and we are done. Let us clean ourselves up and find the others. I’m a bit peckish and could use some lighter conversation.”

 

\- - -

 

“Loki! Finally come to grace us with your presence, brother? Here I thought you were sick of me!” Thor raised a huge mug to the Prince’s entrance, half spilling it down his arm, clearly already into his second or perhaps third drink.

“Of you? Never.” Chided Loki with a grin, taking his seat at the narrow table which was piled high with food and wine.

“I was starting to think we’d left you behind on Vanaheimr!” Sputtered Volstagg, his mouth filled with the leg of a deer, oil running down his chin and into the large ginger beard he’d grown.

“Oh I don’t think we could have left him behind if we wanted to, I swear he almost killed Drina,” Said Sif “Hel, I almost killed him, that whining _pig_.”

“Mmm do we have any pig?” Grunted Volstagg.

“You were just getting your fill down at the brothels weren’t you?” Winked Fandral, passing a small hog down the table to his comrade.

“You caught me,” Loki feigned sheepishness, raising his hands in innocence “seven weeks was _far_ too long.” The group cheered with laughter, pouring the trickster a glass of something dark and red to celebrate.

“To Loki,” Spoke Thor, raising his glass “finally losing his virginity!” They howled and Loki smiled at his own expense.

“To Loki,” announced Hogun, who, like the others, was red-faced from drink. “For telling us the graslendi álfar were idiots but allowing us to find out firsthand, regardless!”

“I gift I deeply regret.” The trickster held his hand to his heart dramatically.

“The ferment was good.” Pointed out Thor

“But we were all too terrified to get drunk, lest the elves steal all our food and run into the woods!” Laughed Sif fondly.

“I’m still not uncertain they didn’t steal some of our food.” Grumbled Volstagg.

“Let them have it!” Yelled Thor, standing abruptly “Look at all this we have before us! A bounty of good drink, fresh kills and fine friends. Nothing more to ask for.”

“Huzzah!” They agreed.

“Huzzah,” said Loki, smiling over at his brother.

It was hours that the six of them stayed at their table, well into the evening, eating and drinking more than their fill. It hadn’t been long before Loki’s drinking game to catch up had turned into a game of _keep up_ for the others. They yelled about one another’s accomplishments, mocked their shortcomings, and said all of the other barely acceptable things that good friends could get away with when solely within the company of one another. Loki would later have a vague recollection of strange memories from the night, including one of him jumping on the table to reenact what he would have done if the elves had sung their deplorable hunting song one night longer, which involved a chickens wing and a fair amount of pork grease.

It was two hours past midnight when Loki half-carried Thor away from the feast and back into the hallway up to his quarters. The blonde god had overdone it somewhat, drowning his previously sombre mood in a generous helping of wine. Thor was completely and thoroughly intoxicated, barely able to keep himself moving forwards except with Loki’s equally inebriated help.

“AND ANOTHER THING-“ He shouted

“Thor _shhh_ ,” laughed Loki, “the castle is all but asleep, you must be quiet.”

“ _And another thing,_ ” Thor tried to whisper but ended laughing at the ridiculousness of whispering at all. Raucous and loud and cheerful. Red-faced and utterly delighted. “You’re so kind, my brother. You take good care of me.”

“What would Asgard do without their future king?”

“Ah yes! Thor Odinson, King of the Realm! Loved and feared by all.” He mocked Odin banging his large staff on the ground. “I shall be a fair and good ruler. What of you brother, shan’t you want to be king alongside me?”

“I’m afraid there’s only one throne in Asgard, brother.”

“WE SHALL MAKE ANOTHER!” Thor yelled, nearly falling from Loki’s grip with his enthusiasm.

“You’re so drunk,” laughed the darker haired.

“Yes, but so are you.”

“Your point?” Loki slurred.

“I don’t have one! Aha!” They both laughed at his utter loss of thought, climbing the stairs at a slow unsteady pace. Loki held the gold rail, supporting himself and his brother with one arm, his other wrapped firmly around Thor’s waist. The blonde prince made it only halfway before collapsing, asking for a short break. “We shall camp here for the night!”

“We’re less than thirty paces from your room.” Argued Loki.

“Yes but that’s after this MOUNTAIN we have yet to conquer! Tell me, brother, are there always these many stairs, or have you bewitched them to play with my mind?”

“And have to bear your weight another moment?” he laughed, sitting down beside the golden prince “I assure you I haven’t the desire to do such a thing.”

Thor dropped his head heavily on his hands, splayed over several stairs like a lounge. “I envy your skill with the _Seiðr._ ” Thor admitted quietly. “You have gifts I can not even fathom, the ability to cast so many things with barely an ounce of thought.” His face grew drowsy, cheeks still flush but his eyes half-lidded. “Do you think that is why Tony Stark still looks so young? Is he blessed with the gifts you and mother have?”

“There are no mortals with the Seiðr, Thor” Loki leaned his head against Thor’s arm for a moment, letting his mind swim in the fog of those red Jotunn eyes he knew to belong to Thor’s friend. “Do not envy this gift, it comes with the burden of lacking in other things. I haven’t the skill in battle that you do, brother. Your time with our father has made you a far superior warrior than I shall ever be.”

“Yes, but you spent much more time with our _mother_ , learning all the skills she has.”

“To be known by our mother that deeply is not always an advantage. She has this way of reading me that I will never understand.” He sighed and rose to his feet. “I suppose we are even though, come now brother, as future king I’m sure a flight of five stairs will be no trouble for you.”

“Arrgghmm” Grumbled Thor, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Yes, we shall defeat these steps together, brother. Future kings!”

“Future kings.” Mused Loki.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads, comments and leaves kudos! I give a tiny inappropriate squeal of joy for each one of them.
> 
> I really love fandom friends, add me on Discord at OhNovi (5064).


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